Insight
by San
Summary: Without his missions, Trowa strives to find something to give meaning to his existence. 3+4/4+3 implications.
1. Chapter 1: The Message

Standard disclaimers and copyrights apply 

Insight 

Part 1 

Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of its characters (though I wish I did!). I'm just a humble fan writing this for fun. 

Warnings: Shounen-ai, 3+4/4+3 

~~~~ 

The hangar was quiet - too quiet for Trowa's liking. The dark haired pilot carefully and methodically tightened the fittings of the mobile suit's left leg, which had been damaged in the most recent battle. That was when Heero had - 

The boy's capable hands paused and his implacable green eyes grew dark and hooded. Heero - that was the injured boy's name from what he had gathered from the other gundam pilots at the Siberia battleground - now lay unconscious in his circus bunk. The seriousness of his injuries was great, but, amazingly, it seemed that the pilot would recover. The image of the self-destructing gundam flashed in Trowa's mind; Heero standing resolute and tall in the cockpit; and then hurtling through the air like a grenade, his body battered and shattered on the cold tundra like the parts of his mobile suit. 

Absentmindedly, Trowa began to polish the Heavyarms gundam, caressing the smooth metallic surface until it gleamed in the morning sunlight - like the sandy desert as gold as the blonde hair of another gundam pilot. 

Trowa blinked and pulled his hand away. He knew he was concerned for Heero's welfare. Of the five gundam pilots, Heero was the most skilled, the most able to take on and defeat OZ. Heero knew it. Trowa knew it. He was sure that all of them knew it. But that Quatre should now come to mind seemed completely out of place - and downright ridiculous, Trowa told himself. Quatre Raberba Winner: heir to the influential and wealthy Winner family of the L-4 colony; pilot of the gundam Sandrock; a seemingly ill suited soldier. 

He had first met Quatre at the Corsica Base, where the blonde Arab and his loyal Maguanac Corps had fought off the OZ and Alliance military forces that had cornered him. The last time he had encountered the kind pilot was in the midst of the Siberian battle, where Trowa had been more concerned with rescuing the wounded Heero. 

A sharp repetitious beeping rent the air, interrupting his thoughts. The dark haired boy noted in amazement that the sound came from his gundam; it was, in fact, a sound he had not heard for three weeks, since the most recent and final orders had come in. Trowa hopped into the cockpit and activated the monitor. At last he would receive another mission; at last he could return to fighting OZ instead of battling with his wandering thoughts. 

The monitor flashed to life, sensors recording the gundam's surroundings. But instead of Professor S's thin face and bright plastic nose, a round childish visage appeared on the screen. 

"This is Quatre Raberba Winner calling Trowa Barton. Do you read me? What is your status? Please acknowledge receipt of this message on same channel." 

It was a pre-recorded message, encoded for transmission to his gundam, although the blonde had sent it along a civilian bandwidth - a clever idea, Trowa noted. Intrigued, but cautious, the dark haired pilot pressed the communication controls. 

"Receipt of message acknowledged. Status: awaiting further orders from command. Over and out." Trowa's face was impassive as he closed the channel and encrypted the message. 

He had spent only a little bit of time with Quatre. After Corsica, he had accepted the pilot's hospitality - in fact, he had enjoyed it, Trowa admitted to himself - at Quatre's desert mansion. The pair had played a duet, Quatre on violin, he on flute, the bright, sparkling harmonies mingling and dancing in the desert air. The next day, Trowa departed to continue his solitary battles. They had once again come upon one another in San Francisco as they both prepared to attack the New Edwards base. Quatre had even offered to get Trowa a room in the hotel where he was staying, but the brown haired pilot insisted on staying with his gundam. Trowa remembered the sad look on the friendly blonde's face when he refused the polite invitation. Why had this memory never surfaced before, he wondered. 

Shaking his head, Trowa walked slowly out of the hangar, leaving his gundam repairs unfinished. 

To be continued… 

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	2. Chapter 2: Heero's Revelation

Untitled 

Insight 

Part 2 

Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of its characters (though I wish I did!). I'm just a humble fan writing this for fun. 

Warnings: Shounen-ai, 3+4/4+3 

~~~~ 

Quatre's message remained on Trowa's mind for the next few days. While practicing his new tightrope act for the following week's performance, the words echoed in his mind over and over again. As he tended the circus lions, he unconsciously noted that the golden fur was not as blonde as the Arab's brilliant yellow hair. He even wondered if he tidied the unconscious Heero's messy coif if it would resemble Quatre's soft bangs. 

At this thought, Trowa let out an exasperated chuckle. This was getting ridiculous. One communication from one of his fellow pilots should not be putting him in such a state. With the exception of Catherine - who presently sat knitting next to the unconscious Heero - no one had ever worried about Trowa. And nor should they, Trowa emphatically said to himself. Personal attachments only got in the way of the mission. The mission is the prime objective, the only matter of importance in life. But now that the mission was gone - 

The sound of a sharp intake of breath filled the air. Trowa whipped his head around quickly. He looked at Catherine. The brown haired girl had dropped her knitting needles and was staring intently at the injured boy, a worried look in her blue eyes. She placed her hand on Heero's head, stroking his dark hair in a maternal fashion. The boy's head rolled to the side. 

"Relena…," Heero rasped. The eyelids slowly parted, revealing a pair of bloodshot cobalt eyes. "Where am I?" he questioned, his brows lowering confrontationally. 

"Hush," the girl soothed. "Lie still. I'm Catherine. You're safe." She turned to Trowa and inclined her head towards the bunk where Heero lay, motioning him to come over. The tall boy walked over to sit by his comrade as Catherine left the room. Heero regarded the silent pilot. 

"How long have I been like this?" Heero demanded, his eyes darting about the room, analyzing his surroundings. 

"Almost a month," Trowa replied. 

"That long?" Trowa nodded. Heero grunted and looked at the multitude of bandages that covered his body. "I appreciate your help." The Japanese boy's intensity was powerful. Trowa could feel it pervading the whole room with a sense of urgency. "What has happened while I was unconscious?" 

Trowa's face was impassive and his voice calm as he related the aftermath of the battle, the lack of missions and a description of Heero's injuries, but his green eyes were tinged with grimness. 

"Your self-detonation…," Trowa hesitated. "I really respect your dedication and your bravery." The brown-haired pilot bowed his head and crossed his arms over his chest. He felt uncertain, lost without his missions. And the tumult of repressed and confused emotion raised by Quatre's message only served to augment his self-doubt. 

Heero's fierce dark eyes caught his. "The only true way to live is to act on your emotions." 

Trowa's mind replayed Heero's words, dwelling on the word emotion. Emotion. In my experience, he thought, emotion just gets in the way and complicates the mission objective. Yet the perfect soldier claimed this emotion as the core of his credo. If he acted on his emotion to protect the colonies by self-destructing, perhaps - 

"Then should I be following your example?" Trowa asked earnestly. 

The pilot gave an almost imperceptible wry grin. "Well, I'll warn you, it hurts like hell." 

A few seconds of silence elapsed before Trowa realized that Heero was making a joke. The irony of the situation seemed almost funnier than the statement itself. The green-eyed pilot threw his head back in a true belly laugh. Yet Trowa's mind lingered on Heero's self-detonation. Perhaps this would be a way to resolve his feelings. Perhaps this would be the way to regain the safe feeling of having a mission and ignore the confusion of his heart. 

To be continued… 

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	3. Chapter 3: Poignant Preparations

1 Insight  
  
1.1 Part 3  
  
Disclaimers: I don't own Gundam Wing or any of its characters (though I wish I did!). I'm just a humble fan writing this for fun.  
  
1.2 Warnings: Shounen-ai, 3+4/4+3  
  
~~~~  
  
The hangar lights were dim as Trowa tightened the final bolts on Heavyarms' leg joints. The rest of the circus slept soundly in their bunks. No doubt their dreams were full of excitement and anticipation for the next day's opening night. The brown-haired pilot was also looking forward for the performance. Trowa's lips twisted into a bitter grin as he thought of the "new act," which he had volunteered to create for the OZ base crowd.  
  
He polished his gundam meditatively; the mobile suit's sheen seemed to illuminate the dark hangar like a precious gem emerging from the rough of the rock surrounding it. He had found his mission. His purpose in life was reaffirmed. As he thought of his finale when the gundam and the OZ base would ignite in a glorious explosion, Trowa felt a sense of peace fill his being. A small sigh escaped him.  
  
The morning and early afternoon seemed to drag on so slowly, as Trowa went about preparing for the show. As he fed the animals, he paused in front of the lion's cage. The golden-maned beast stood unwontedly silent and still by the bars. The brown-haired boy felt a twinge of sadness as he realized this would be the last time he would see this favorite creature. And it would be the last time he would participate in these tasks for the circus. Despite his silent aloofness, the boy had become part of the circus community, and he felt secure within its routine lifestyle of practices and performances.  
  
He slid his hand through the bars and ran his fingers through the animal's soft, warm yellow-brown fur. He withdrew his hand and gently placed the water pail by the corner of the trailer. Without a second glance, he turned, hands in pockets, and walked slowly back to his trailer to prepare for the evening performance.  
  
~~~~  
  
The Big Top had never been as full as it was tonight. Eager smiling people squirmed with excitement and anticipation in all the seats from the front row all the way up to the top rafters of the grandstand. The ringmaster grinned broadly as he and Catherine peeked through the curtain flaps.  
  
Trowa stood quietly off to the side in front of a large tarp-covered object. His crossed his arms over his chest, his spiky-haired head bowed. He thought of his afternoon, as he spent his last time talking with Heero. He had not told the dark-haired boy of his plans but the Wing Gundam pilot sensed that something important was to happen tonight. He had said nothing, however, respecting Trowa's privacy and resolution.  
  
Looking back at their almost business-like conversation about mobile suits and battle tactics, the boy felt slightly put out. Trowa frowned. This sudden feeling surprised him. Why should he worry about whether or not Heero would miss him when he was gone? He shook his head as if to rid it of unwanted thoughts. Tossing quick looks on either side of him, Trowa raised the near flap of the tarp. A corner of Heavyarms' bright façade caught the glints of light that streamed through the tent flap cracks. Quickly, the boy ducked beneath the fabric.  
  
The lights of the cockpit sprang to life as the mobile suit controls came online.  
  
To be continued. 


End file.
